False Starts and False Hopes
by Youngauthor27
Summary: I still needed you... You're all I had left and then you were gone." *All warnings posted inside*


*Disclaimer: The characters and setting in this story are the intellectual property of one J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and various publishers. I make no monetary gains from the 'publishing' of this piece and no copyright infringement is intended.*

**Warnings:**Coarse Language/ Alcohol Use/ Mentions of Slash/ Mild Allusions to character death(s) - This story is **Not** Cannon compliant.

*With special thanks to Euclidian: for your eye for detail. I must beg your forgiveness and patience once again. I simply had to post this; it suits my mood.

* * *

False Starts and False Hopes.

"How 'bout it Tom?" Harry asked as he hopped up onto the barstool.

"Evenin' Master Harry!" the old barman smiled in welcome. "What'll it be tonight sir?"

Harry spread his arms wide. "Surprise me." He grinned.

"Marcy's just got some chips on; I'll put down a kettle o' fish if ya' like."

"Funny." Harry grinned wryly. "Just bring me the bottle and we'll go from there."

Tom's smile faltered. "How 'bout shepherd's pie then; fresh, pulled it from the oven not later than Monday evenin'."

"It's Thursday Tom." Harry frowned. "Now, I'll thank you for a bottle of Ogden's Finest and you can peddle your week old pies to some other poor sod."

Tom pulled the towel from his shoulder, twisted it in his hands. "I'm afraid I can't sir." He said haltingly.

Harry stared coldly. "You can't or you won't, Tom?"

"It's nothin' personal sir-"

"Bollocks."

"Just, after last time-"

"Nothing happened last time!"

"The hot and cold still won't run as proper-"

"It never did!"

"And the furnace still knocks somethin' awful every time what someone goes to light it."

"It's always been on the knock!"

"And I had to give a full refund to every one of my lodgers that night, what with them complainin' about the walls rattlin' and shaking' and the glass breakin' like it were! A week of Marcy's wages that was!"

"You want me to pay for it?" Harry asked angrily, reaching into his pocket and dropping a worn sack onto the bar with a clink and heavy thud. "There! Now give me a fucking drink!"

"I'm sorry sir." Tom shook his head sadly, spoke softly. "I know you been turned out of the taverns in the alley, I know I'm the last one'll take your patronage-"

"What the fuck do you know?" Harry sneered. "What, all you barmen have some secret barmen's guild or something?"

"I know you don't mean it sir," Tom continued as though uninterrupted. "But it's bad for business. I can't have you in here liquored up and losin' control as you do."

"Tom…"

"So if you won't be lodgin' for the night or needin' a proper meal I'll have to ask you to vacate the premises sir."

Harry stared at the old man, unwilling to believe he'd heard what had just been said. Tom straightened and gave a half smile. "We've got treacle tart in the ice box."

Harry's lip curled as he slid from the seat. "Fuck. You." he whispered and stalked out of the bar, the sack of coins forgotten.

~*~

"…Fuck you!" Harry yelled as another bottle shattered in a satisfyingly amplified tinkle of cascading glass against the wall. "I gave up everything, I lost everyone, so you and your pathetic Marcy could keep this shit hole up and running!"

Another bottle shattered, the sign was left swinging.

"Everything!" he screamed. "And this is the thanks I get?!"

He raised his arm, conjuring another bottle, aiming for the window; a hand caught his wrist. He spun, too quick, and staggered into Ron's chest. "Ron?" he squinted up in the darkness, through the halo of light beaming around his red head; he smiled. "Ron." The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Ron!" He barked. "Tell them!" he spat. "Tell them I gave it up, all of it, for them!"

Ron frowned. "Yeah, yeah you did mate." He said gently.

"They can't do this to me! I'm Harry Potter! I'm the…" he stopped, frowned. "… fucking Saviour!" he slurred. "They can't kick me out!"

"And yet here you stand."

"Yes!" Harry crowed triumphantly. "Here I stand." He looked around the deserted alleyway. "No." he frowned. "No it isn' right, it isn' fair… they can' do this to me!"

"No, but I can." Ron said firmly and stepped forward; Harry was entranced by the gleam of his Auror's badge in the lamp light.

"Can what?" he asked.

"Come on." Ron grasped his arm and pulled.

"No." Harry planted his feet and locked his knees. "I want a drink!"

"You've had quite enough already."

"I'm fine!"

Ron ground his teeth so hard his jaw creaked; he glared at his friend. "You'd better hold on tight." He whispered venomously.

"Wh-"

The crack of apparation echoed down the alleyway.

~*~

Harry hit the floor on all fours and vomited; Ron turned his head and grimaced at the sound. He pulled Harry to his feet and walked him to the bed, pushed him onto it. Harry landed on his arse with a bounce and stared blankly ahead for a moment before trying to stand up; Ron was there, hand heavy on his chest, pushing him back.

"Sit the fuck down and shut up." He said menacingly.

"Ron…"

"Shut up!" Ron yelled; Harry frowned.

"You don't hafta yell mate." He grumbled. "Why you bein' such a prick?"

Ron stared in disbelief. "I'm the prick? I'm the prick?!" he yelled. "Fuck you Harry!" he turned and made for the door; Harry stood to follow. "Don't you dare get up! I swear to Merlin if you fall over in a drunken stupor I'll leave you to fucking rot!"

Harry plopped back onto the mattress. "Where are you going?" he asked feebly; his eyes stung.

"To flush every phial of hangover cure we own!" Ron yelled as he stomped into the hall, slamming the door behind himself; Harry winced. He stared at the door as his eyelids drooped; he opened his mouth, closed it again and fell back against the mattress in a heap, drifting.

"Don't leave me…"

~*~

"… Bastard." Harry hissed as the curtains were thrown back; he curled in on himself.

"Get up." Ron said and walked out of the room.

Harry drew himself up out of bed, eyes shut tight, fighting a surge of nausea as he stumbled blindly into the hall washroom. He closed the door against the light and searched through the medicine cabinet.

"Ron?" he yelled and winced, his voice echoing off of the tile, he covered his ears with his hands and whimpered.

"Where's the hangover cure?" he rasped as he shuffled into the kitchen.

"Flushed it." Ron said into his mug. "I told you that was what I was doing. What, you didn't believe me?"

Harry frowned, shook his head. "I don't remember."

Ron nodded. "You're welcome, by the way, for changing you out of those filthy things."

Harry looked down; he was indeed in a fresh undershirt and pants. "Thank you." he whispered. "What am I to do about this hangover then?"

Ron lifted his wand, levitating a steaming mug into Harry's hands. "You can detoxify the muggle way."

Harry curled his lip in distaste and fell into the chair opposite his friend. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"You always are." Ron shrugged.

"No, I mean it."

"You always do."

Harry frowned. "Are you looking for a fight? 'Cause I'm really not up to it."

Ron sipped his coffee. "Not particularly." He sighed. "I'm just tired and I'm certain you are too, so there's really no point in going through the whole long spiel when we both know how it's going to end."

"Spiel?"

"Yes, spiel; it means-"

"I know what it means, you idiot! I mean how could you say that?"

Ron stared across the table, his eyes dark as he chewed on his lip, Harry could feel the tension rolling off him in waves; then it passed. Ron tilted his head back and rubbed briskly at his face. "I really don't want to do this anymore." He whispered to the ceiling.

"Do what?"

Ron fixed his gaze back on green eyes, waved a hand between them. "This. This isn't what I signed on for mate."

"Signed on for?! What the hell?!" Harry spluttered. "I'm sorry being there for your best mate while he's grieving his losses is such an imposition for you! Fuck you!"

"I didn't say that." Ron said easily, leaning forward a bit in his chair. "I never said that. I was there for you while you were grievin' mate, and I was happy to be; but that's not what this is anymore. This is self pity and petulance and you're wallowing."

"This has nothing to do with me!" Harry shouted over the pounding in his head. "This is about our-"

"Don't tell me this is about our friends, Harry; that's a shit excuse and you know it." Ron snarled. "You wish it had been you instead of them, is that it? You want to die too?"

Harry dropped his gaze, his eyes stung again. "No." he whispered.

Ron sat back; he hadn't expected that. "Harry… what the hell is goin' on in that head of yours?"

Harry looked up, swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Why are you asking all of a sudden?"

"What?"

"We never talk about this stuff anymore; we never talk about anything anymore! And now, all of a sudden you want to barge in and tell me you're tired of me?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ron frowned. "We talk every day!"

"No!" Harry shouted. "No, we don't! We make small talk, chit-chat, idle banter, we bull-shit our way through all the awkwardness the same way we did after we woke up that morning!"

Ron swallowed hard, his eyes wide.

"It was one time." Harry mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "One stupid, drunken, fumbling mistake and you just… I knew it didn't mean anything to you, I knew it was awkward, but I didn't care. I still needed you, I needed my best mate and you distanced yourself, you pushed me away. You're all I had left, and then you were gone."

"I never went anywhere." Ron whispered.

"I know you were here." Harry said exasperatingly. "But you weren't _here_, and I couldn't deal with that, I _can't_ deal with that." He stared at his friend, waiting, hoping.

"I have to go to work." Ron whispered and stood abruptly.

Harry stared at the empty seat, his eyes dark and welling with tears; he pushed away from the table, padded to the sink and dumped his coffee; there was a bottle of brandy somewhere in the pantry and it was calling to him.


End file.
